Truthseer

by Jay Aspen

  Fin would know what to do to help them get through this. And I don’t. I can’t even let myself stand near Kit anymore. I am nowhere near ready to take over from where Fin left off.

  *

  They woke at first light and headed north across the tundra, navigating by the sun. A hawk circled lazily overhead, black against a clear sky. The mountains and lakes were behind them now as they crossed undulating country of heather and dry grass between the rocks, the occasional stunted tree struggling out of patches of crisp snow.

  Jac glanced up at the sky. ‘That hawk’s been following us for an hour. It disappears for a few minutes and then comes back.’

  Kit followed her gaze. ‘At least it’s not a vulture or I’d be getting worried about how exhausted we look from the air.’

  Jac looked warily around the valley they were descending, a patchwork of greys and whites with speckled beige shadows between the rocks. She was acutely aware of how their dark forest camouflage worked against them in these surroundings and searched in vain for a route that would give more cover.

  The feeling of being watched grew, even when the hawk disappeared from sight. There was no sound or scent but something uneasy resonated in her awareness. At last she stopped, signalling the others to wait.

  ‘Something’s not right. There’s someone out there.’

  Instinctively Bel and Kit pushed her between them and nocked arrows. As they watched, the patchwork of pale colours shifted and moved and what had seemed an empty scattering of rocks and snow-speckled tundra came to life.

  They were surrounded by a dozen armed figures dressed in close-fitting white and grey furs giving them the camouflage of the pelts’ original owners. Some carried hunting bows while others held high-powered rifles and although they made no aggressive moves Jac sensed they were alert, ready to strike.

  A tall man in his forties pushed back his fur hood and in a single movement drew a long knife from the sheath next to his quiver of arrows. The hawk was perched on his left wrist.

  He stepped forward. ‘Put down your weapons. We’ve been tracking you from the barrier and we heard gunfire. Who is your pilot and why are you here?’ His voice was clear and educated, reminding Jac of the TV university programs whose professors sounded like that, speaking from artificially lit lecture theatres and tutorials. It seemed so far away from this bleak valley of half-frozen snow and rocks.

  Bel cautiously laid her bow on the ground. ‘Our pilot was Fin. She was killed on the ridge yesterday. Her contact was someone called Wolf.’

  He gave an almost imperceptible signal to his followers and they lowered their weapons. In spite of his efforts to remain impassive, the hurt the news had caused him was all too clear.

  ‘Fin. I can’t believe she’s dead. I do not want to believe it.’

  ‘I’m sorry. We don’t want to believe it either. She stayed behind to give us time to get clear.’

  ‘That sounds like Fin. She was like a second mother to me. For a while.’

  A middle-aged woman stepped forward, pointed to the ridge above and muttered something in a low voice. He turned back to Bel. ‘What chance of getting across the barrier?’

  ‘None. The military has the whole area staked out.’

  He gave a resigned shrug. ‘So we go back to the outpost. I’m Wolf, so at least you’ve found Fin’s contact.’

  They followed Wolf northeast across the tundra until they reached a large building that might have been an old-style manor house in the days before the crash. It had been roughly repaired and looked weatherproof if not exactly comfortable.

  Wolf stepped back to let them inside. ‘Outpost for refugees. They’re often cold and exhausted after crossing the barrier. Some didn’t make it through their first night till we had this.’

  Jac could feel the warmth as they walked through the door. The inside of the house had been half-demolished to form one large room so the single fire could heat the whole space. Wolf’s team had brought wood back from the forest near the barrier as a few stunted bushes were the only source of fuel out on the tundra.

  Wolf and his people invited the newcomers to sit with them round the fire and the caretaker crew brought bowls of soup. To Jac, it seemed too much of a coincidence to meet up so close to the barrier.

  ‘Wolf, why were you heading south?’

  He answered between mouthfuls of soup. ‘Scouting for sites to set up unregistered holdings in the northern forest. We were held up for a week with the storms. Yesterday we tried to cross the frost-fracture on the main road but it was crawling with patrols. Too many vehicles stuck around the fracture, so we headed for the backup route through the mountains further west, same as you did. We heard the guns, then we saw you heading north. We’ve been tracking you since then.’

  ‘But surely settling in the forest south of the barrier is far more dangerous than staying where you are?’

  ‘Not anymore.’ Wolf’s forehead creased into a frown. ‘So many refugees arriving and so little productive land. We’ve started over-fishing and over-hunting like the criminals of the past. We have to reduce our numbers before it’s too late.’

  ‘Have you told Raine what you’re doing?’

  ‘Yes. He didn’t think forest holdings even in the north would be safe for families with children. But what choice do we have?’

  Bel crushed Wolf’s hopes of going south by giving him an account of the number of vehicles, armed lookout positions and personnel that she’d committed to memory on the way through.

  ‘You won’t get across the barrier for a few days, Wolf. Even if they call off the hunt now it’ll take a while to get all their backup out of there.’

  ‘In that case, we go back to Icehall. Bel, can you can help us map out safe areas before we try again?’

  ‘We’ll share all we know, although I’ve not been anywhere that feels particularly safe. But not tonight, forgive us, we’re exhausted.’

  ‘Of course. We’ll talk more as we head north tomorrow. I’ll find you some furs to go over your tropical clothing.’

  Jac smiled at the foreign concept. ‘Thanks. I’d never exactly thought of the Warren as tropical.’

  34

  During the next day of walking over the empty expanse of snow and scrub and frosted rocks, Jac found she had little time for conversation. The group had no medic with them and her small first aid kit was soon exhausted with a backlog of minor injuries whose owners suddenly decided were in need of attention.

  She tried to listen in and learn as Bel and Kit helped Wolf build a picture of the possibilities and risks for his people in different areas of forest south of the barrier.

  He revealed that he had in fact been a professor at the university before fleeing to the Ice Islands and he was curious to catch up with changing tensions in the city. Beyond that, he didn’t volunteer further personal details and they didn’t ask.

  There were other things to think about in this snowy wasteland. Wolf had warned them that the over-hunting had created shortages for other predators and the bears were coming out of hibernation hungrier and more aggressive than usual. The islanders knew how to sense an attack and avoid confrontation but Wolf was taking no chances with newcomers. The weight of the handgun strapped to Jac’s thigh was a constant reminder to stay alert.

  The first sight of Icehall took her breath away. A tall outcropping of rock had been shaped and moulded by skilful construction until it formed an artificial cave complex facing south. Running up the centre of it was the glasshouse, hundreds of slender panes crafted together in a tall window stretching fifty feet up the full height of the structure. As it caught the afternoon sun it glittered like a frozen waterfall of ice cascading over the cliff.

  Jac stared at it in amazement. ‘It’s beautiful. What you can do when there’s no drones spying on you! If we could grow food like that back home without getting stripped out with defoliants we’d have enough for everyone. And some to spare.’

  As they came closer they passed a work party of fur
-clad islanders bringing in panes of glass on adapted backpacks. A team of workers dangled from ropes across the tall window.

  Wolf pointed to the damage. ‘We build the glasshouses vertically so the snow doesn’t keep out the light or crush them under its weight. Last year’s storms stuck wet snow to the glass in sheets of ice until the weight of it brought the whole side down.’

  Jac raised a hand to shield her eyes from the dazzling light reflected off myriad panes. The towering crystal pillar was a strange contrast to the wildness of the surroundings.

  ‘Where do you get the glass?’

  ‘Derelict houses on the east side of the country, just south of the barrier. We have to carry it back on foot. The roads are cut all the way across to the east coast.’ Wolf turned away from the construction site and led them through the double-insulated entrance to Icehall.

  The warmth enveloped Jac as she stepped through the inner doors. It would have felt cool for a normal day at the Warren but compared to the frost outside...

  ‘What was it you said about conditions further south? Tropical?’

  Wolf laughed as he peeled off his outer jacket of grey fur. ‘Sounds like you’re getting used to our northern climate already.’

  ‘Have you lit fires everywhere?’ Jac was quite glad to be taking off her own furs in the sudden warmth.

  ‘No fires. Think of the fuel we’d need! The shifting weight of the ice made the Icelandic hot springs vent further east. Makes it possible to live here.’ He pointed to the network of heated pipes around the walls.

  They were standing in a large hall that showed little evidence of attempts to smooth over the rock walls either natural or man-made. Every surface was painted white to reflect green-tinted light struggling through the foliage of food plants racked against the glass window.

  The latticework of plant frames ran the height of the hall, supported by white-painted iron girders. Larger beams held the ceiling ten feet above the floor, resting on a central pillar. Jac guessed from the size of the glass wall seen from outside that there must be another three or four floors above them.

  ‘How can you see what you’re doing in this dim light?’

  Wolf pointed to a door at the back of the hall. ‘The workshops and kitchens have spotlights. Just enough for the solar and batteries to cope with. Islanders who aren’t working in those places or on plant maintenance spend most of their time outside during the day hunting or fishing, or training the children for when their turn comes.’

  He saw that she was impressed and smiled ruefully. ‘I don’t suppose life is much easier where you came from.’

  ‘Maybe we just got used to it.’

  The light was fading outside and the hunters and repair teams were coming into the hall and peeling off their outer furs. By the end of an hour there were almost two hundred gathered and still more coming in.

  Jac returned from a quick tour of the upper levels, full of enthusiasm. ‘Those growing systems are incredible! Can you feed everyone here?’

  Wolf was watching the hunters as they came in, counting out the game they had brought with them, lines of strain etched dark on his weathered face.

  ‘No. We can’t. There’ll be four hundred here when everyone gets back in, a hundred to each level. Icehall isn’t viable as it is now. We’ve brought our fittest and strongest from the northern halls ready to find new land for farming, south of the barrier. Their families will join them later. By midsummer three quarters of this number must be gone, or we’ll have no surplus to get through the winter.’

  He turned to go. ‘Now I have to divide up what game we can afford to dry and store.’

  Jac watched him walk over to the milling crowd of hunters, noticing how weary he looked as he tried to resolve the shortfall. Bel was watching too.

  ‘I know that tired look. Like Raine when he’s worried about everyone’s safety.’

  Kit said quietly, ‘I think we’ve just seen a preview of our own future.’

  *

  Parry walked into the Dome, trying to push events at the jetstream from his mind, wishing his responsibilities were less constrained by dictates from above. Particularly from above in this place. He headed for Moris’ private office.

  Focus on immediate priorities...

  By the time he was facing the president across his ridiculously oversized desk, in the hideously over-decorated box he called an office, he knew it would take most of his concentration to keep that focus. Even trying to ignore the sickly stink of Moris’ hair products seemed to get harder at every meeting.

  ‘Why did you overrule my order to pull the last two units out of the northern forest?’

  Moris’ pale eyes narrowed at the lack of courtesy. ‘There are still outlaws up there.’

  Parry noticed the twitch of irritation. He had to be careful with Moris. Appear more deferential.

  ‘Of course, you’re right. But I need to focus on the situation in the city as well. We should be taking the threat of F2 far more seriously. They’re recruiting and talking civil war. If I could allocate even a fraction of this new budget to getting them off the streets––’

  Moris interrupted sharply. ‘Not necessary at this stage for a small extremist group. Your budget is for wiping out Pendrac and the Resistance.’

  Parry knew he was failing to conceal his frustration. ‘F2 is causing more damage and injury than anyone associated with the Resistance. Even with extended curfew, we’re losing control of the east side streets.’

  Moris sounded exasperated. ‘You just don’t get it, do you Parry? F2 alienates people and makes them reliant on our enforcers. Pendrac’s lot are popular. Which means they can recruit even more people at any time. That’s a threat.’

  ‘So what exactly do you want me to do about F2’s activities?’

  ‘Nothing. Perfect justification for the additional restrictions and surveillance mandated in the Fourth Directive. When it gets royal endorsement.’

  Parry noticed the irritation in the last sentence, but set it aside to be examined once this futile interview was over. He made one last effort to instill some sense into his superior.

  ‘F2 is no longer a small group. More join every day. We need to get to the root of the problem.’

  ‘The root of the problem is the Resistance. Now go and do your job.’

  Parry knew he’d have to accept it and turned to go, then hesitated at the door. ‘You sure this is based on logic and not a personal vendetta?’

  Moris turned on him with unconcealed fury. ‘Don’t ever say that to me again! Or to anyone. I give the orders here and if you start questioning them you won’t have much of a future.’

  Parry walked back to the security building, trying to decipher the subtext of what had been said and order it into a pattern he could maybe work around and still survive.

  *

  ‘Jac, hold your wrist a little higher. That’s it. Now, go. Good.’

  Jac watched the peregrine soar into the dazzling blue above, still feeling wonder and disbelief at the rapport she’d established with the young bird. It had come so instantly and easily, as if she’d grown up hunting with hawks rather than only just discovering this whole new world.

  Fox had been her teacher for the last two days. He raised peregrines and gyrfalcons like many of the islanders but was the only hunter in the region who could fly ospreys and bring fish home. In his early thirties, red-haired and broad-built, he was strong enough to easily hold the two kilos of Seahawk, his chosen hunting bird, on his outstretched arm.

  Jac welcomed these practice sessions on the snowy hillside above the mews. At first it was because she needed an excuse to spend time away from Kit, but soon her love of the natural world immersed her in a new-found fascination with the art of falconry.

  ‘Why ospreys, Fox? They’re so big.’

  He grinned self-deprecatingly. ‘Maybe I’m just contrary. Everyone said it couldn’t be done. I just thought they were so beautiful. When I came here ten years ago they were in trouble. The
changing climate had killed most of their nesting trees.’ He pointed to the stump of a lone tree with three snub-ended branches pointing whitened fingers at the sky.

  Jac’s eyes roamed the searing whiteness of the hillside, its stark beauty a constant reminder of the harsh climate and thin soil. Temperatures would only ease a little with the coming of summer and the air drifting down from the distant mountains felt chill in her lungs.

  ‘How do you stop trees dying of cold?’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’ His face became serious. ‘It was hard work for the first three years and I wasn’t sure it would succeed. I made nesting platforms and started breeding ospreys to release back to the wild. Then I found one I had some communication with and it went from there. I couldn’t sit still all day with a fishing line.’

  The peregrine descended and landed on Jac’s leather-bound fist. Fox watched closely, concerned that his carefully reared young hawk would be well looked after.

  ‘I’ve never had a student who was a natural like you. It’s as if you already had an instinct––and Sybina took to you immediately as well. She won’t bring you anything much bigger than pigeons or the occasional duck but she’ll keep you from starving. And she’ll be your eyes, maybe keep you alive longer than even her food deliveries will.’ He adjusted the tiny camera and transmitter on the peregrine’s leg and stepped back to let Jac fly her again.

  ‘Once you get used to the movement you can see like she can.’ He showed her how to line up the image on her handset. ‘Though she’ll be looking for pigeons and you’re looking for men with guns. It’s how we tracked you on the ridge the other day when we heard the gunfire.’ He saw the shadow on Jac’s face at the mention of the ridge. ‘Hey. I’m sorry about Fin. I didn’t mean to remind you.’

  ‘It’ll take a while. Come on, I need to keep busy. Teach me some more.’

  ‘Sure. Once beyond the aerial at Icehall, transponder range is about three miles. She’s trained not to over-extend from that so don’t get her into bad habits. And remember, for the relationship to work, she has to see you as an asset to her hunting abilities. She’s free to use her wings and leave if she no longer regards you as useful.’